‘We will proceed to the palace,’ Adea called, ‘where the king will formalise the decree.’
‘I didn’t think you liked me enough to be so enthusiastic in your support, dearest Stepmother,’ Kassandros said as he fell back a couple of places in the parade, to be next to Hyperia and Nicanor.
Hyperia looked at him, her expression earnest. ‘My feelings for you have nothing to do with it, Kassandros, it’s all to do with the safety of our family. Since Adea has allied herself with you, she has ceased to be our enemy; I would like it to remain that way as she is a nasty, vicious girl. But, however vicious she might be, it’s nothing compared with Olympias and you being made regent to her grandson, Alexander, will stir that harpy to heights of jealousy hitherto unscaled and bring her east with an army. You mark my words, Kassandros, we need Adea as Olympias is coming to claim her grandson and Roxanna will be only too glad to accept her protection.’
‘You think so?’
‘We know so,’ Nicanor said. ‘Letters have passed between her and Olympias; they have been using Aristonous as a go-between as his estates are close to the border with Epirus. Some of our men have been watching the route but we’ve yet to intercept one.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to put a stop to that, won’t we? But first I need to raise an army up here; how are you doing with that?’
‘I’ve started assembling all of our followers from the estates who didn’t follow you to Asia and called upon kinsmen to do the same; we should have a core of almost seven hundred men, four hundred cavalry, two hundred and fifty infantry, completely loyal to our family at the heart of the army.’
Kassandros ruffled the hair on the back of Nicanor’s head. ‘Well done, brother. Now, I had better do the rest.’
Kassandros looked at the document and then signed it. ‘That should bring you an army of about ten thousand if all the discharged veterans pay heed to the call and come to the muster; that should be enough to hold off Olympias if she comes west with the Epirot army.’ He passed it over to Adea to sign in the name of her husband.
Adea signed her name and that of Philip and passed the scroll to a waiting clerk. ‘Have five hundred copies of that made and sent to every town in Macedon.’
The clerk bowed and reversed out of the council chamber.
‘I shall write to Polyperchon in the name of the king,’ Adea said, ‘demanding that he lay down command of his army and transfer it to you.’
‘He won’t,’ Kassandros said, ‘we all know that.’
‘Then he will be a traitor.’
‘And we know what to do with them.’ Kassandros got to his feet. ‘I’m going back south to defeat him and his son and then I’ll be able to come north and together we will deal with Olympias.’
‘What if she invades before you arrive?’
‘Then you use that warrior training that you’re so proud of and lead the army against her.’ Two female generals facing up to each other; what is the world coming to? But Kassandros could see by Adea’s expression that that was exactly what she dreamed of. ‘Just do what you have to do to make sure that Olympias does not get power over her grandson.’ He turned and limped from the room with purpose, anxious to be going back south. Once Polyperchon is defeated and the Greek cities have their oligarchies restored, I’ll be back, my little warrior queen, and then we’ll deal with Olympias together; and after that? Well, who knows? But there is no room in my plans for either your idiot king nor the half-caste whelped by Roxanna.
ROXANNA.
THE WILD-CAT.
IT WAS NOT safe; Roxanna felt it more than ever now that the man-woman had allied herself with the coward who did not have the right to recline at table, and Polyperchon was embroiled in the south trying to give freedom to people not much better than slaves who did not deserve it. Her only friend was Olympias and that might be no more than an assumption as, although she had written to her in flattering terms three years previously, her recent couple of letters were far more formal, so who knew where the aging dowager queen stood now. But she was her only hope as Adea’s grip on power in Macedon was becoming firmer by the day.
But how was she to escape? Olympias had urged her to do so but had made no suggestions as to the practicalities.
Roxanna sat, in semi-darkness, on a deep cushion and hugged her knees, burying her face in her dress, rocking to and fro as she willed herself to come up with a solution to her predicament: she needed transport, she needed protection for herself and her son as well as the slave-girls she would take with her to keep her in comfort – a considerable amount of protection as the journey was long and across hazardous terrain and her party would not be small – and she needed opportunity, for the three bodyguards who constantly watched over her son were there as much to prevent him from leaving Pella as they were to ensure his safety. They were unlikely to agree to fleeing in secret to Epirus and yet that was what Roxanna knew she must do; either that or resign herself to death.
She cursed her inability to get her potions through the security that surrounded the man-woman and her equally disgusting man-child since the one success in administering a poison to Philip all those years ago in Babylon. How many years was it? Five, it must be for that was the age of her son. And what had she done in those years? Nothing but be dragged around Asia following an army and then brought to Europe to be a captive queen kept in what passed for luxury in this backward country. She looked around her chamber on the first floor of the northern side of the palace: it was full of rich decoration in the form of silken drapes, finely woven carpets, deeply upholstered couches piled with cushions, polished wooden tables covered with jewel-encrusted bowls or golden statuettes, all dimly lit by a few guttering lamps, all worthless to her in terms of security; she fought back a sob. A queen does not cry; a queen stands tall and overcomes her difficulties. But no sooner had the thought passed through her mind than the futility of the situation hit her. Stand tall? Stand tall and do what? And now the sob exploded from her for there was no way of suppressing the impotence she felt and the sense of hopelessness that had been growing in her ever since she had been brought to Pella. There were still another eleven years to go before her son could take up his birth-right in his own name; what were the chances of him surviving until then with the man-woman and the coward in control of Macedon? For the first time in a long while her mind passed back to her youth in the ragged lands of Bactria and the simpler life that she had led. Yes, she had all comforts imaginable but she also had freedom: she roamed the hills and valleys – with a strong escort, naturally – she hunted with her father and brothers, for the girls of her tribe were encouraged to do more than spin and weave; indeed, she would even help her brothers to break the colts each season. But now that was gone, exchanged for what she had thought would be the most privileged position for a woman in the world: the wife of the great Alexander. Instead, she was little more than a prisoner.
The sob repeated itself again and again until it transformed into a wail of despair and Roxanna collapsed onto the soft furnishings, tearing at the delicate fabrics as she wallowed in her self-pity.
It was, therefore, a surprise to Roxanna when she felt strong, masculine hands grip her shoulders and haul her up. Automatically she covered her unveiled face with a ravaged cushion and turned to face the intruder. ‘Aristonous? What are you doing in my private apartment? How dare you!’
Aristonous shook her. ‘Be quiet and listen. What happens to you is of little concern to me but Alexander’s child is in great danger and I’ve come to help him. You can either stay here or come with me but, if you come, I won’t tolerate any histrionics. I’ll just abandon you; do you understand?’
‘You don’t talk to a queen like that.’
‘Do you understand? Yes or no?’
‘I am a—’
The slap cut her off and she looked in shock at Aristonous, rubbing her cheek, the cushion now discarded. It took much strength to utter her next word: ‘Yes.’
‘Then come with me.’<
br />
‘I must pack.’
‘If you want to, go and do so; I’m leaving now. You either come now or you don’t; it’s all one to me.’ He turned to go and walked through the door leaving Roxanna fuming, unsure of what to do.
And then she realised that this was the opportunity she had wished for, if not in the form that she had actually wanted. She stamped her foot and clenched her fists by her sides and, for the first time ever did something against her will without being forced into it, she followed Aristonous out of the door.
A couple of her slave-girls crouched, terrified, in the corridor, watched over by a brute of a man, heavily armed. ‘Come,’ Roxanna ordered the girls.
‘They stay,’ the brute growled.
‘I’m a queen! They do what I say and so do you.’
‘And I’ve got a heavy sword so they’re best off obeying me; as are you.’ The brute creased his pock-marked face into a leer and grabbed Roxanna’s arm, propelling her after Aristonous, along the corridor towards her son’s suite.
More men joined them from intersecting corridors lit with torches and adjacent rooms oozing light, until a dozen stood outside the double doors of Alexander’s apartment.
Aristonous looked back at her. ‘Knock on the door and demand entrance.’
So that’s the reason they got me: to get access to Alexander’s rooms. She paused, about to object at being used thus, and then thought better of it; she walked up to the doors and thumped them. ‘It’s the queen; open the doors, I wish to see my son.’
It took but a few moments before the lock clicked. Aristonous heaved his shoulder to the door; it burst open and his men swarmed in behind him, pushing Roxanna aside onto her knees.
‘There is no need for bloodshed,’ Aristonous said to the young king’s three bodyguards, standing, swords drawn, blocking the way. ‘You know who I am and you know that my loyalties have always been with the Argead house, as are yours – or, at least, they should be.’
‘What do you want, Aristonous?’ the middle of the three asked.
‘To take the king to safety, Coenus, to Olympias. If he stays here Kassandros and Adea will kill him as soon as they feel secure enough in their rule to be able to murder the flesh and blood of Alexander himself.’
Coenus looked at his two companions and then at Roxanna as she picked herself up off the floor. ‘What does his mother say?’
Roxanna fought the urge to snap at the man. ‘I know that you are here as much to be our gaolers as to ensure our safety, but if we stay then you will be killed defending us against Kassandros’ men and we will all be dead. We must leave.’
Again Coenus looked at his companions and they shared the slightest acknowledgement of agreement. He turned back to Aristonous. ‘We’ve been debating the matter since we heard this morning of Kassandros’ coming; we felt that it didn’t bode well for the king. It cannot be against our oaths to escort him, with his mother, to his grandmother: we can do that with a clear conscience.’
Aristonous held out his arm, the grip was returned. ‘It would have been a great shame to have been obliged to kill you, Coenus.’
Coenus grinned and signalled to an inner door. Roxanna ran forward and opened it; a few heartbeats later she emerged with the spindly form of the five-year-old king of Macedon in her arms, his hands clasped around her neck, and his nurse in hot pursuit.
‘She stays,’ Aristonous said, pointing to the nurse. ‘It’s bad enough having a child and a woman with us, I’ll not compound it with a crone.’
He turned to go. Roxanna looked at the nurse and knew that she had no choice in the matter; she was being swept along by events over which she had no influence. ‘Stay; I will send for you.’ With that she turned and ran after her rescuers.
The horses were waiting, looked after by three other men, in a copse four hundred paces north of the city walls. They had descended from her suite via back stairs and labyrinthine passages to exit the complex through a cellar window whose bars had been hacked away in preparation for the escape. It had therefore been some time in the planning and not just a spontaneous action precipitated by Kassandros’ arrival and his formal alliance with Adea.
She had struggled as they ran across the open ground, dark as the moon was yet to rise, which sloped up towards the foothills of the mountains overlooking the city, Alexander growing heavier in her embrace by the moment.
Without a word, the men mounted up as Roxanna put Alexander down and looked around, confused.
‘Hurry up, woman,’ Aristonous hissed.
‘But where’s my carriage?’
‘Don’t be stupid, get on that mare.’
‘But a queen doesn’t ride.’
‘A queen does as she’s fucking well told; now get on that horse.’
‘But Alexander can’t ride.’
‘Alexander will be dead if he doesn’t; now either you take him in front of you or you give him to me.’
Roxanna looked down at the boy, his confused and frightened eyes wide in the night. She took a deep breath and lifted him up in front of the saddle. Then, remembering her girlhood, hunting and breaking colts in far off Bactria, she swung herself up to sit astride, put an arm around Alexander and caught hold of the reins, giving them a rapid double flick to either side of the beast’s neck as she kicked it forward after Aristonous. Alive with excitement and the memories of adventures in her youth, Roxanna felt a thrill at her sudden change of fortune. She rubbed her cheek that still smarted from Aristonous’ slap and smiled to herself in the darkness; it had been a long while since a man had dominated her so.
On they rode through the night, keeping to the foothills as they made their way ever south and west, increasing their speed at the rising of the moon so that by the time the sky glowed pale on their backs they were ten leagues from Pella, ten leagues closer to the safety of Epirus and the protection of the mother-in-law she had never seen.
The whole of the next day they pressed on, Alexander asleep much of the time in her arms, stopping only to water the horses and feed them from their nosebags as their riders gnawed on bread, apples and onions and took advantage of bushes to relieve nature’s call; then on they would set off again. For two days they continued thus, avoiding towns and villages, pausing only for a few hours’ sleep on the second night and so they were more than one hundred leagues from Pella, just shy of the border, when the faintest sound of pursuit reached their ears; the sound that all had dreaded but none had spoken of for fear of tempting the gods beyond endurance.
‘Ride!’ Aristonous cried after a glance over his shoulder. ‘Ride!’ He kicked his horse forward, accelerating away.
Roxanna looked behind her: there, far in the distance, a league or so away, but clearly following them was a unit of prodromoi, light, lance-armed cavalry, perfect for the pursuit of other horsemen; but what made them a threat at this distance was that each man had a spare mount, they would not be tiring soon.
She urged her mare into a canter but felt her son struggle in his seat, squealing with agitation as the party’s nervousness communicated itself to him. ‘Keep still! Alexander, curse you, stop struggling!’ On she pushed her horse, all the time fighting with one hand to keep her increasingly distressed child secured.
Up they climbed as fast as their mounts could go, up towards the heights of Mount Tymphaea in the Pindus Mountain range and the pass that would take them over into Epirus. And still the boy wriggled and complained, wanting just to be put down and not understanding why he could not have his own way as was normally the case with his nurse. It was the bite on the wrist that made Roxanna loosen her grip and screech; down Alexander tumbled, down onto the rock-strewn parched ground, crashing onto his shoulder-blades to roll two complete somersaults under the momentum of the horse’s speed before lying on his back, still.
Roxanna screamed. If he’s dead then so am I. She leaped from her mare before it had pulled up and ran back to her prostrate son. ‘Alexander!’ She knelt by the still, small body and cupped his head i
n her hands; his hair was warm and sticky.
Blood! No, don’t let him be dead; I want to live.
She pulled an eyelid open and felt a surge of relief as the pupil dilated.
‘Is he alright?’ Aristonous shouted, riding his horse back towards them.
‘I think so; I think he’s just unconscious. He’s hit his head, it’s bleeding.’
‘We have to move him; they are less than half a league behind us. Give him to me.’
With a mixture of reluctance and relief, Roxanna picked up the limp body and handed it up to Aristonous, who, without any ceremony perhaps due to a king, laid him, belly down, across his stallion’s neck. ‘Now mount up; we must get going.’
Roxanna did as she was told with alacrity, glancing behind to see the pursuers’ dust cloud markedly closer after the delay. On she pushed her mare, a sturdy and wide-chested beast with a big heart; it seemed to be enjoying the challenge much more now there was no struggling child around its neck. But the incline grew steeper and they were forced to traverse whilst their pursuers, at least twenty in total, came on in a direct course so that it was not long before the distance between them was no more than five hundred paces in a straight line, although they had the advantage of height. And then Roxanna’s heart faltered as she looked down at the prodromoi; still in a canter, they jumped from their tired mounts onto the relatively fresh ones and, with a new turn of speed, accelerated up the hill which Roxanna and her companions, on tired horses, had been obliged to traverse left and right.
On Aristonous pushed, on to the first summit, strewn with ragged rocks, providing places to hide for perhaps a couple of men but not a small party such as they; and still the pursuit gained on their fresher beasts.
‘It’s no good, Aristonous,’ Coenus shouted from the rear of the group, ‘they cannot help but catch us unless they are delayed long enough for you to be on the downward slope. We know what we must do to keep our oaths. How far is it to the pass?’
Aristonous pointed up to the crest of the hill about five hundred paces distant; behind it rose another ridge and then, behind that, the mountains soared. ‘Just over there it begins; it’s narrow at first and then opens out as it cuts through the range.’
The Three Paradises Page 33
